The Dream Machine

   

   Many years have found me, in all of them I've had the same reoccurring dream. Of a bus, on a road filled with friends. Filled with dresses and things made of my hands, barreling towards somewhere important and nowhere in particular at the same time. Stopping along the way to sell my wares as we need gas and have grand adventures in new places Ive never seen. 

   This dream started shortly after I stopped traveling the world. Go figure. That wanderlust that follows never leaves. Sitting at my kitchen table one morning, staring idly into my computer at my online teacher of accounting. A whisper crosses my mind "what happened to your bus?" Some unknown center of my being voice wafting through the mundane teachers accounting chant about organizing values.  At that moment my entire mind lit up with this fantasy picture, the reoccurring dream of the road. This time I could really see it. In its entire arch. The people I would meet, the maps I would trace with pencils. The places I would be. Right down to the dresses I would stock my bus with to sell. 

     In my mind the whisper said "Perfect. Time to get started" and disappeared. Leaving space for the planning of how to execute this fantasy into my reality. Snapping shut my laptop muting the account teachers torturous lecture I turned to the calendar hanging on the wall. Staring into the calendar looking for clues, the boxes started to take shape. I estimated I would look for a month, find for a month and hopefully come up with an actual running vehicle in not to bad shape for renovating by my 40th birthday end of August. 

  The looking was fun, but a bit saddened by the prices and general disrepair most of the buses were in I was quickly beginning to wonder if I was in fact just crazy and hearing voices or if this was actually something I could make a reality.  The first few weeks I attempted to get my husband excited to help look, and like a good sport he did.  We found some box trucks and not quite rights and no call backs that fit our price range. Id about given up, after another week of waiting on a call back from a shop in the midwest that had a grundman delivery van from the 40s that would have been amazing.  Deciding to give it one last shot I looked again, this time forgoing any notion of something extremely antique for a more reasonable vintage era 60s-70s mini bus. A schoolie is what you'd call it.... quite a popular genre of vehicles actually i found.  Combing through online car ads, old motorhomes and long lost vehicles in fields with must pick up on a flat bed listings I came across my bus. I knew instantly it was my bus because the voice came back and said "thats it" the instant the image crossed the screen. Coincidentally this mini bus was in California only 5 hours away in Bigfoot country farther north from where I live.  We emailed immediately.  After a few days with no answer I was starting to get antsy. Finally we got a response, saying the bus was still available and we could come test drive it and check it out. Of course I wanted to go right away, but work and time wouldn't have it so I had to wait two weeks until my husband could come with me into the hills to check it out. 

  Finally the day arrived, I packed nothing of course assuming we would be back at the end of the day or late night with the bus best case or towing the bus and back late night worst case. We headed out with nothing but the guys email, and instructions to call him when we arrived in the small lonely town of Hayfork in the trinity alps. Driving through the trinity wilderness, over passes that pioneers and gold miners traveled is a certain kind of out there. The beauty is immense but also so harsh its frightening at times. Extreme heat, altitudes and weather issues are commonplace, including a huge rockslide that had cut off most of the road we were on through the mountain at one point. 

  Arriving in hayfork around sundown we promptly parked by the town bar to try and get service to make a call to the guy we were seeing about the bus. Having come all this way the silence was unbearable, one minute felt like an hour. Finally the response came but it was not what we were hoping. "We don't do business after dark now. So come by in the morning and we will take her out for a test drive." looking at each other and then the forlorn town with tumble weeds and stark rocks baking in the sun we had to now formulate our new plan of attack. Driving slowly out of town after confirming we would in fact be back for the test drive in the morning we watched the sun slowly descending behind the looming mountain range.  30 miles later we ended our day in Weaverville a small unassuming town deep in the emerald triangle famous for its well preserved historic downtown district. Complete with wooden wild west era buildings, and a fight between rival asian gangs in the 1900's in which the locals helped the asians sharpen pitchforks into weapons and cheered on a 600 person battle between said rival gangs while onlooking towns folk watched just out of town.  This is real theres a pile of rocks at the place of the battle, pitchforks emblazoned on it an everything. We checked into a shabby "victorian" style hotel, which really had very few victorian elements to it other than creepy paintings of young maidens and an old pair of shoes left under our bed. The evening turned to night and crept by painfully slow, finally the dawn and light spured us out of town and towards our goal. 

   The yard we ended up in was filled with neatly organized piles of everything from antique stoves to reclaimed wood. Sun baked rocks and random ferrel cats were speckled about the piles and a organized but dark double wide prefab home awaited us. From the front door rolled a curious man in a wheelchair missing his legs but not short in arm strength as he approached us mastering the treacherous terrain of this yard.  He had missing teeth, hair and a beer belly covered in mechanics grease dust and mountain grime. Sporting a smile and a nod he said "welcome" " bus is right over here" and we made our way to the mini bus parked off to the side of the yard.  He immediately began telling us the story of the bus, which started with the story of his missing legs. I could tell and Im sure he could too that my husband wanted to ask just how he ended up in hayfork and how he lost his legs being far to polite to ask this man just started the bus story with the most obvious. 

   Our hero lost his legs hiking up Mt Shasta in April after having drank the night before, and then some more the day of.  Half way up the mountain with his two friends and two guides he started feeling sick and decided to take a rest and head back down after he felt a bit better. His friends packed him in snow (it was still snowing up there in April) and left him with his down jacket promising to come back and get him on their way back down if he wasn't already gone.  Having been drinking themselves they ended up separating and going back down the mountain different directions, also completely forgetting they had left someone on the side of the mountain in the snow in questionable health. Three days later his work wondering where he had gone called the police. The police sent out a cadaver dog and our hero was found, heart beat down to six beats a minute covered in snow, frostbitten from head to toe but alive. When asked if he remembered any of the three days on the mountain he replied "not a second". He woke up at UC Davis days later missing his legs and being advised he needed a psych exam to get released from the hospital.  Apparently our hero told his doctor he had to get to the rainbow gathering in the midwest soon so he needed to be leaving and the doctor told him he was insane. Having realized he needed to escape as quickly as possible from the hospital he pretended to have no interest in his party and claimed to have come to his senses and was quickly released. After leaving the hospital his first stop was a convenient store for a pepperoni stick, one of those long large plastic covered deals which he strapped to his leg as a make shift prosthetic. He then purchased a car and drove across country to the Rainbow Gathering.  Leaving the mountain, his legs and the doctors orders in the rear view. 

    The bus came into his life shortly after that rainbow gathering, in which he animatedly told us of how his wife and children had traveled to festivals and states for years in the bus. The bus is filled with all kinds of gadgets and additions he had crafted himself.  A bed that stowed away on the wall and rolled down using old ship rigging. An airplane bathroom ripped from an old captains cabin in a vintage plane. Hot and cold water taps installed outside for festival goers to fill their bottles with water or hot water for tea. Fridge, hanging crystals the whole nine yards. I was in awe. This man shaped like a jelly bean, animatedly telling us about his incredibly full and glorious adventures.  Two wives later and grown children moved away the bus had been away from the festival life for a time and our hero was ready to sell her to the right people.  As he plucked away at the engine showing us all the new parts and recent work he had done I caught him glimpse me out the corner of his eye and smile.  

   The bus itself's history was no less colorful than the man that owned it as it turned out.  Originally a prison transport bus used to take prisoners from jail to the bus stop once released to parole. 1976 found it in mint condition until the policemen driving it ran it over a curb going 60 and took it out of commission with the department of corrections.  Front end in need of repair the bus ended up in hayfork close by with the only mechanic employed by the department of justice that could work on these buses. His last job on his last month before retirement this man rebuilt the buses front end and then promptly retired. The bus went to auction and found its way to our hero. After which time it toured with the bands, Phish, The Grateful Dead, and saw many rainbow gathering summers and festival days. 

   As we turned the key and the engine roared to life I clapped my hands together and I heard that voice again "its happening" inside my head.  I made it known I was sold. He looked at me a long kind but also hard look and said " I knew when you got out of the car I was going to have to sell her today. Your the right people"  We exchanged some more stories and cash and with a puff of exhaust and some dirt spewing from under the wheels we pulled out of the yard and onto the highway. Waving our goodbyes to a real hero, pioneer minded type of individual that truly inspired us both with his life story. 

  Winding down through the mountains driving behind my husband in the bus watching and listening to the engine for any signs of trouble. 170 miles later, out of the mountains, onto the highway and just over the Mendocino county line on 101 a puff of smoke left the exhaust and I could see the bus loosing steam. At the off ramp she died, just off the road on a quiet offramp. Crushed but not defeated we checked the engine for clues. Id only had a bus for a few hours at this point, so little to know experience in this department at this time. After getting her off the road and poking around in the engine for a while we decided to get her towed. I was already planning on driving her to our mechanic at home anyway so this wasn't that much of an issue. For some reason when my husband drove away leaving me in the bus to go find service on his phone and call a tow. The voice gone and my images of fantastic adventures now stalled on the side of the road I panicked. All of the bad things came rushing in, thoughts of how stupid this was, how dumb it had been to try something like this. How it would've been easier to just stay home and what a mess id made with my stupid ideas.  My fathers voice had replaced my happy whisper in my head with the tried and true "I told ya kid your always a fuck up" by the time my husband returned I was in tears. Id done a fantastic job of convincing myself Id made the biggest mistake no one would ever forgive me for and ruined my life.  My husband, seeing my tears twisted up his face and asked me "why the hell are you crying? We don't need that right now, so your gonna need to get it together babe."   

  Stifling my sobs like a small child I knew he was right. Sitting there in the stalled bus had snapped me into a place we all go when we are out of our comfort zone for long enough. Trying something new and at the first hiccup it seems so much easier to just not have come. Completely losing the upside, or the other-side or any-side other than it must've been the wrong choice.  In the end the sun faded, a truck laden with chains and wood straight out of mad max pulled up and a mechanic by trade Marvin and his teen daughter who lived near by ended up testing our battery and alternator. We determined the alternator was the problem and having arranged a tow already we wrote a note for the window indicating the bus was not abandon and would be picked up and had to leave her there and continued on our way home. 

   My disappointment soon faded as I thought about all the other possible scenarios there could have been. The bus got us 170 + miles out of some of the hardest highest terrain in the world to a safe place she could be picked up easily. I was already planning on the tune up so really what was there to be worried or sad about? the minor change in plans? The money for the tow that I had planned into the cost of the bus and saved over one year to cover anyway?  Despite the current situation things were actually going exactly as planned.  As we drove home talking excitedly about the new project bus and our plans for it I asked my husband if he was mad at the extra time we had had to take in Weaverville, if he cared the bus needed a tow if he was mad at me for dragging us out into the wilderness on a wild ride for a bus? My husband the amazing man that he is looked at me and said "No, this is a journey its all part of the adventure. You of all people already know this. Im here for it all. Its all just part of the ride isn't it? What would we be doing if not pursuing our dreams to the ends of the earth together? Today was perfect."  

Wood Chip

Sundays are like the day your supposed to do something really awesome but most of the time your so burnt from the week it just seems like everything is a hassle.

This Sunday started out slow, with indecision on what to do from the boyfriend as per usual. Eventually he left to go work on some handy man gigs around town and I was left to my own devices.

I put on my favorite blue vynl record Pinback's Blue screen life and listen to some sunday morning tunes while I make my matte drink and down smoothie juices.

I end up moving a mountain of wood chips that have been sitting in front of my house for a month. I landscaped under our lone palm tree and around our drive through driveway. Things ended up looking much nicer when I was done.

Nothing much else of note happened on this day....the fog continues and the wood chips have made their way around the yard. 

Shop Girl Revisited

Friday Evening I received a call that my friend who owns a flower/gift shop in town needs someone to staff the store on Saturdays. I took the job, having been recently fired.

Saturday morning arrives and I am supposed to open the shop at 11am. I make my way to the store and open, its a relatively simple day. Filled with simple customers shopping for out of town gadgets and townies shopping for birthdays.

 I am visited by my boyfriend and our friend from the ridge, who both sit in a rope chair and ponder getting food and beverages at the local establishments.

I sell an unusual number of pitcher plants, and the day is done. 

Fired.

Thursday was a total loss, I cant even remember what I did but most likely some combination of working for the internet company we worked for and being at my studio trying to get the gift bags back together.

Friday however was a bit more interesting, Michael my boyfriend and I are fired from said internet company we previously worked for. Well kinda of fired, fired with a 1000 bonus and "keep all of the tools you have" statement...so loosely fired. In any event I am elated I never have to help another customer for Further Reach again.

I am working on finishing dresses for two girls who work at the coffee shop, I want to deliver them before 3pm.  I finish them both and we head to the coffee shop, talking about our recent firing and the strange terms.

I deliver my dresses to the coffee shop, and enjoy the usual flirty banter with the waitstaff. Everything is terrible there on this day however as the one odd woman out is working and she cant make sandwiches or matte lattes to save her life. I am adding honey and cinnamon to my latte over and over again to make it drinkable.

Lines in the sand

The morning breaks.

I am still under the giant sequoia tree and things are still and calm as a morning in the redwood forest always seems to be.

I awake and break camp, which basically just means I washed down with a baby wipe, combed my hair, brushed my teeth at the camp faucet and called it good.  The camp toilets had doors on the bathroom stalls that were oddly shaped and didnt allow you to actually open the door and get out. You had to wedge yourself beside the toilet to let the door open so you could escape. I found this frightening and didnt want to take any chances birdbathing in the sink in there.

I drank some smoothie and ate some yogurt and awaited 8am, which seemed a reasonable time to depart the campground back to Rays... to meet my work placement coordinator with a problem picking people up. Now I had been told that arriving early in the morning was essential remember. So I cruised back to Garberville figuring that I would be seeing her text any moment.  I decided to park behind the Rays this time as I exited the freeway and that same cop was yet again cruising around the main street.

I park, and watch a round bleach blonde 40 something standing over her pitbull that is shitting in the rays food mart poorly landscaped 2 ft area of planter.  She stares back and me and chews her lip, and flips her flip phone back and forth. She passes my car window dog shit bag in hand, as if to show me shes not leaving turds at Rays. A few minutes later I look up from South sea tales to see her running down the other side of the street with the pitbull, dog shit bag waggling bottle bleached pony tail whipping from side to side as she limp runs into her house with the blue tarp on the roof. Some invisible hurry she was in all of a sudden? Or perhaps this constitutes her daily excersice routine. I am left to wonder.  Still no sign of my employer, I send a text at 9:30am stating that I am hoping are paths cross shortly. I give her till 10am before I am leaving this dump and never looking back.

The round blonde remerges from the house, dodging toys and garbage on her front lawn she proceeds with the pitbull back to the Rays planter for round two of her dog shitting haplessly on things. Again she passes my window with the dog shit bag becoming ever more filled with her dogs droppings. I wonder exactly where the bag went when she went inside? Why would you not just get another bag?

10am rolls around and I cant wait for this lady any longer, I draw a line in the sand in my mind and fire up my jeep spin the wheel back towards the redwoods and my 3 hour drive home.  I stop by the side of the road somewhere between bendbow and westport park and walk over a tiny wooden bridge. Onto a fire road leading to no where. I walk and smoke a joint and think about my adventure into the woods. The wind picks up just as I notice a pile of bear scat and decide to turn around and head back to the car. I eat figgies and jammies and watch as the wind begins to blow tiny birch leaves into the air. All around me they twirl and twist to the ground in an endless cascade of beauty. I again think to myself "this wasnt so bad" and continue walking back to the car. A butterfly swoops over my shoulder and lands on a giant thistle that is seconds away from blooming. I stop and watch the butterfly on this amazing plant for quite some time. I am stoned and I need more cookies now, I make my way back to the car.

The rest of the drive was scenic and smooth, sailing back into Manchester around 1pm just in time to finish the laundry I had left the day before at the Mormons house and get a text from the garberville lady telling me she had just gotten down into service and was coming to Rays. I laugh and throw my phone back into the cup holder. No response needed, I think to myself. I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it even though you will never know. Who sits and waits for 16 hours for someone....

Just over the Hill

Tuesday arrives, slowly. Things take shape, a last minute cleaning request from one of my house cleaning clients puts things into warp speed. I now must pack and clean a house before I can get on the road.

This job has already told me to arrive early in the morning or I will not be able to work until the following day of my arrival as I will need to "placed" at one of her many properties.  She had also described her approach to taking care of her workers with this sentence "I come by every few days with water, but thats about it." So I knew the job was going to be strange before I ever started out. Now Im a day late already and trying to get on the road and I have to stop everything and go clean for my mormon clients with a stockpile of end of the world rations in their basement.

 I pack my car in a rush, snapping the sheets onto my peice of foam smashed into the back of my jeep which will serve as my bed. Piling my backpack of clothes and babywipes in on top of that. All the water I can obtain is bottled into various plastic jugs and put in the car and I leave out for the day.

I clean the house and wonder at how anyone could possibly smear so much black soot or whatever it is thats oozing all over the walls and doors around in one two day period.  I stare blankly at the "god is good" poster in the childs room and shut the door. The only thing interesting about these people is the end of the world rations in thier basement ordered direct from the Mormon run proccessing plant in Utah. For mormons by mormons, they are the FUBU of religions.

With the laundry finally finished spinning and the beds all perfectly made and every crumb vaccumed I am free to hit the open road finally around 3pm. Not to bad I think to myself I missed the morning "placement" anyway so Ill be hitting town around 6pm just in time for dinner and sleep. Start the day fresh ready to get placed.

I make the drive up the coast, hitting Ft. Bragg around 4pm. My favorite place to eat is closed, I look from one side of the small town street to the other. There's a sushi place on the other side of the street down the block, I dont mind eating there and they are relatively quick which meets my current criteria for places I will eat right now.  Sushi is closed. Next door is a hot dog shop, which is always open and always strangely empty. I decide to take my chances.  Oddly the hot dog shop serves wraps, and all kinds of other Mexican foods despite its sign and decorations. Two giggling Mexican guys make me a veggie wrap and I cant help but wonder if they arent giggling at me stoned out of my gourd as I make my way to the bathroom.

 The wrap turns out to be delicious, including croutons instead of tofu which I thought was clever of them. I stop at a coffee shop on my way back to the car to get a treat, a mocha. Raspberry of course. Back in the car I learn that I no longer enjoy raspberry mocha's as I once did as the taste of refined sugar after not eating it for weeks is actually not as awesome as you would think.  The drive winds along the ocean. Sea birds are flying around and a light fog has been enveloping the day so far. I hit a small town of Westport and cant help but starting to day dream about living in the now for sale Westport Mansion.

The road winds up into the mountains and I start my climb over the hill to 101 north, and Garberville. The trees get bigger and the sides of the roads become littered with "sasquatch sightings" signs and knick knack stores selling redwood burls, hanging baskets and tickets to the "drive through tree".  It is beautiful here, and my mood is high.  Coming out the other side of the forest I pass Davidson campground and think what a nice time it wouldve been to drive out here and camp for my birthday instead of getting so shit faced on tequila like I do every year. Alas some things have not changed.

 I reach Garberville, and the scenery has turned ugly. Garberville is a tiny town, just a drive through really at the base of the kings range foot hills. Inhabited by scraggly looking hippy types and the people who work for them. Weed rules the industries here and it is obvious. Trimigrints (people who come from out of town to trim weed) litter the streets, in cars, on foot with back-backs and dogs. People picking them up and meeting with other growers litter the parking lots staring at phones and sketchily looking around. The person I am working for has asked me to meet them at the Rays food market right on the main street in town. I park and text her to let her know I have finally arrived. She will be there in a minute, I go inside the store to procure groceries. I am followed by an older man covered in dirt smears and unruly hair that sniffs the air and announces "you sure do smell nice" to me.  I know I must make my time in town short. I quickly run through the grocery store dodging other trimmigrints like myself and locals getting booze trying desperately not to forget anything I may need during the next week or so.

I spot another guy staring at me and also looking for foods. He seems to be talking to a lady who sounds strikingly like the person I have been talking to on the phone. I swing around the corner of the deli and make eye contact. Smile and then proceed to finish my shopping. I return to my car, to find my phone ringing. I answer and find that my pick up has left the parking lot without me to take the other guy up to her place and she asks me to "sit tight" while she does this and she will be back for me.

I wait in my car, texting and surveying the scene in the Rays food parking lot. A black man across the street at the gas station is yelling at people to help him. Two police cars arrive on the scene to assist with whatever his issue is. I glance back at my clock, I arrived at 6 and its now 7.... The gas station issue is resolved and the police hang around their cars parked on the street across from Rays. I watch them over my phone as I text my boyfriend. The police cars disappear down the street, only to reappear quickly in the rays food store parking lot two parking spaces over from me.  The police get out of thier cars and hang out in the parking lot, loosely staring at me in my car and trying to get my attention, or possibly spook me into doing something dumb. I check the time again as the police cars leave the parking lot. 7:45. As 8 rolls around the police cars appear again in the parking lot and this time they park directly in front of my car. They joke and stand outside their cars...but clearly I am in the sights now. I avoid eye contact, and start looking for that campground I passed on google maps. The police go into Rays, aparently something warranting their attentions more than myself mustve been in there. I text my contact and tell her I cant stay at Rays anymore and Im going to camp. We decide she will text me in the morning and come get me to start work.

I drive the 9 minutes back to Davidson campground, the light is leaving the sky and I know I will have to do the self check in at a state park routine once I arrive, in the dark. Somehow I am not the only person checking into a mostly deserted campground on a tuesday night afterdark as I am followed by another car with two restless looking occupants trying to figure out the self check in.
I drop my cash into the envelope and proceed to pick my campsite in the dark. I cruise the campground looking for the authoritarian looking trailer that signifies the park rangers area, then strategically choose my site based on this trailer location.
I then gather wood as the sign says not to and make myself a small fire to heat up water for sleepy time tea. I am camped under a giant sequoia tree, or what I like to call an oracle tree. The firelight lights up the bottom 8 feet of the tree and I can just see the bottom branches dancing in and out of the firelight while I drink my tea and wonder what kind of animals target white jeep Cherokees in the forest for food. All in all the day is not to bad, I have groceries, I have my Jeep all decked out for camping anyway and Im sipping a nice cup of tea and looking forward to reading Jack Londons South Sea Tales and slipping off to sleep.

I crawl into my jeep to sleep, lock the doors and then promptly set off the car alarm by attempting to put my key in the ignition to turn on the music. The car alarm breaks the silence of the forest and I feel like a complete human idiot among magestic forest spirits.  I sleep the sleep of a single women in the forest curled up between my spare tire and the back wheel well. All is right with the world once more. 

A case of the Mondaze

I was supposed to leave for a trimming job in Garberville today, unfortunately due to the birthday party session that was unplanned I am once again back at my studio. In a twirling fervor to finish an alteration to a wedding dress.  Hemming the six layers of tulle and satin and funky smelling weirdness off of the internet this person has purchased. In all my time never was there a more terrible smelling dress than this one.  The bride to be was short, and wanted everything shortened for dancing, this was her second wedding gown by the way. This was her gown for the afterparty, her beach sand dwelling dancing in the air dress.

I finish just in time for the 6pm pick up, collect my cash out and head home to pack my car and get ready for tomorrows departure. I am looking forward to my trip to work and be away.